“She still might have you answer the phone that way, if anyone calls.” He looked past me. “Whenever I went for a job interview, I always pretended like I was meeting a good friend, and just hanging out and talking with them.”

I couldn’t imagine Trick hanging out with anyone, but then his life had been very different before he’d gotten custody of me and Gray. “Does that work?”

“Did for me.” He gave me a one-armed hug. “I’ve got to go run an errand at the town hall. Meet me there when you’re through.”

I squared my shoulders and walked down to the bookstore café. From outside I could see most of the little tables in the front were occupied, and more customers were browsing the shelves in the back. I took a deep breath, opened the door and went inside.

The inside of the shop smelled of gingerbread, coffee and books, an odd but nice combination that made me feel a little more cheerful. Although there were at least twenty people in the shop, it was fairly quiet, and those who were talking kept their voices low, as if they were in a library or church.

Behind the long counter two ladies were busy making sandwiches and pouring drinks, which a third woman loaded onto a tray to carry to the tables. As the waitress saw me, she unloaded her tray and came over. “Table for one, Miss?”

“Ah, no, thank you. I have an appointment with Mrs. Frost.” I’d picked up and dropped off my job application at the café counter, so I hadn’t yet met the shop’s owner.

She waved toward the back. “Her office is behind Women’s Fiction. Just knock first in case she’s on the phone.”

I thanked her again before I headed back to the office. After I knocked, an impatient voice responded with, “Come in, come in.”

The bookstore’s office had to be the most untidy, cluttered space I’d ever seen. Stacks of boxes and books lined the walls and occupied every flat surface; dozens of posters about bestsellers and photographs of authors papered the walls.

A lady I assumed was Mrs. Frost sat behind the desk, a ledger open in front of her. As neat as her office was untidy, she wore her silver hair pulled back with combs. The navy-blue dress she wore was even plainer than mine, but her understated makeup and dainty pearl earrings added an aura of elegance.

“You’re my three o’clock, which means I’m running later than I expected,” she said without looking up from the check form she was filling out. “I’m Martha Frost, and you’re Catherine?”

“It’s Catlyn, ma’am. Catlyn Youngblood.” I watched her shift two boxes from the chair next to her desk. “If you’re busy I can come back later.”

“That’s kind of you to offer, but if I don’t make a decision today, I’m going to miss my plane to Baltimore.” She gestured at the chair, and as I sat down she skimmed through a stack of applications.

I hadn’t considered that so many other people would be applying for the same position. As bad as the economy was, a lot of people were probably looking for work. My heart sank a little as I realized I’d have to be the least-qualified applicant.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Frost put on a pair of reading glasses. “You’re fifteen years old, you live in the farming community, and you’re a sophomore at Tanglewood. Straight-A student, very good.” She turned the page over. “You live with your brothers?”

“Yes.” There was never any easy way to say it, so I kept it short. “Our folks were killed in a car accident. My oldest brother Patrick is my legal guardian.”

She asked me a few more questions before she set aside the application. “As I mentioned in the ad, the job entails working thirty hours a week around the holidays. I need someone to inventory the shop’s stock as well as catalog a collection of rare books I’ve just acquired. The work has to be done during the evening, as I’ve rented the shop to a college testing assistance service that will be holding their tutoring classes here during the day. Have you heard of Julian Hargraves?”

“Just what I read about him in the paper,” I admitted. “He was really old when he died.”

“One hundred and seven, bless him,” she said. “Julian collected rare books about all sorts of occult topics. He was not a friendly man, but on a few occasions when I delivered a special order to his home, he asked me to stay for tea. Just before he died, he instructed his estate manager to sell his entire collection to me for thirty dollars.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “You mean, thirty dollars a book?”

“Thirty dollars for the entire library.” She saw my expression. “It’s completely ridiculous, of course. Julian had books that individually were worth thousands of dollars; I know because I sold them to him.” Mrs. Frost smiled. “But enough about Julian. Why are you interested in working for me, Catlyn?”

“I love books,” I said. “I also want to earn some money for college.”

She nodded. “Are those your only reasons?”

“No, ma’am.” I didn’t have to hide behind the brick wall now, but I did have to be careful. “My brothers are great, and I love them, but I want to become more independent.”

She nodded. “If I hire you, how will you get back and forth to work?”

“I’m planning on taking the bus that runs from Farmer’s Market to downtown,” I said. “Both of my brothers drive, so if I miss it, one of them can drop me off or pick me up.”

She gave me a shrewd look. “What are your five favorite novels?”

I thought of my small collection of books. “Valley of the Horses by Jean M. Auel, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, Mistress Devon by Virginia Coffman, A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle and The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

“Interesting.” She seemed to relax. “You can often tell a great deal about someone when you know what their favorite books are. You enjoy stories with strong heroines placed in impossible situations.”

“I know heroes are more popular with most people, but I like girls who think for themselves and do something about their problems. Instead of waiting to be rescued by the hero,” I tacked on.

“I think I have just the book for you.” She opened a drawer and took out a worn paperback with dog-eared pages and yellowed edges. “This is one of my favorite novels.” The faded cover showed a dark-haired woman in a cloak, and looked a little like a romance novel. “Don’t be fooled by the artwork. The story is quite remarkable.”

I felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring any money with me.”

“Consider it a welcoming gift.” She handed it to me. “If you can start tomorrow, the job is yours.”

“Really?” All the breath wanted to rush out of me. “But I didn’t think … ”

“That I’d hire you?” The skin around her eyes crinkled. “You’re bright, you’ve never been in trouble, you know how to use a computer, and you love books. That’s all the experience I need.” She stood up and held out her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at three o’clock sharp. Wear something comfortable.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I shook her hand. “Thank you so much.”

Three

Ipractically floated out of Mrs. Frost’s office. As I looked around the bookstore, everything seemed new all over again. I was going to work here. I had the job.

“Cat.” A petite redhead waved at me from a table by the window where she was sitting with two other girls.

I grinned and walked over. “Hey, Tiffany.” I nodded to her friends Amber and Gwen, who were also on the cheerleading squad at our high school. “Are you doing some shopping?”

“We’re hiding from my mom. She’s on a Christmas ornament bender for her ladies club swap. I’m about to overdose on red, green and adorably cute.” She pushed out the empty chair and patted the seat, inviting me to sit down. “What are you doing in town?”

I sat down, trying not to beam like an idiot and failing. “I just got a job, working here. I’m going to be inventorying the shop while Mrs. Frost is up north for the holidays.”

“Then you deserve a cookie.” Tiffany handed me a little decorated gingerbread man. “If you ever need someone to come over and harass you, give me a call.”

“Great.” I bit into the cookie to hide my dismay. Just like everyone else in town, Tiffany didn’t remember me, or that when I first moved here she had harassed me almost daily at school. It hadn’t been her fault, but she didn’t remember that, either.

“So did you hear about Sunny Johnson?” Amber asked. At my blank look, she pointed at the shop across the street. “Her parents own the Junktique.”

“No.” I glanced through the window but only saw a closed sign. “I don’t think I know her.”

“She mostly hangs out with the 4-H’ers,” Tiffany said, referring to the tight group of kids at Tanglewood whose parents were all working farmers. “Her boyfriend is Nick Starple. You wouldn’t know him; he dropped out last year.”

“Anyway,” Amber said, “Nick always picks Sunny up at school and takes her home. Only last Friday his car broke down so he couldn’t make it, and when Sunny’s parents got home that night, she was gone.”

I frowned. “Gone where?”

“They say she ran away from home again.” Amber looked around and lowered her voice. “She’s done it a couple times before, you know, because her dad is so strict and her mom just goes along with it to keep the peace. Lately Sunny has been saying how she and Nick might take off and go up north, like to Maryland or something, where they could get married without their parents’ permission.”

“It’s all Sunny talks about,” Gwen assured me. “She hates her parents and she’s crazy about Nick.”

“Then why would she leave without him?” I asked.